


what's better than this...  just guys being dudes.

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Carolina Hurricanes, Charlotte Checkers, M/M, genre typical dumbasses, genre typical internalized homophobia, gratuitous fic written in the face of canes getting knocked out of playoffs, i'd tag this as "self discovery" but that seems like a stretch, just a bro giving another bro a brojob you dig?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 20:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18858601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Normally Martin keeps his thoughts pretty sex-free (by teenager standards, sure, but hockey takes up a lot of space in his mind, and so does like, practicing English all day) but it isn’t... super no-homo of him to think about sucking Janne’s dick. Reflecting, he figures it’s just … a curiosity thing. Kuokkanen's pretty hot, and since Martin doesn’t like, look over in the locker room (that’d be weird, and, more importantly, invasive) and especially since Janne’s been out injured, he just doesn’t know if his dick is pretty too. It’s still like, not gay to think about sucking your friend’s dick.It probably is, fuck. Whatever. He’s a modern 21st-century European guy. He can think about sucking dick if he wants.





	what's better than this...  just guys being dudes.

Janne Kuokkanen’s hotness is kind of a joke on the team, but it doesn’t feel like a joke when he opens the door to his apartment wearing a cap backwards and sweatpants riding too low around his waist. 

 

“Marty! Let me put on a shirt, sorry. Been cleaning.” He stretches, leans his arm on the door. His hair’s gotten longer as he recovers from injury, and it curls out under the cap.

 

“Yeah, you got a girl coming over later or something?” Martin Nečas replies, smirking, trying not to think too much about how Janne hadn’t lost the summer muscle most of them had as the season progressed.

 

“Just you, bro!” Janne’s laughing, his grin as symmetric as the rest of his stupid face. “Some of us like living in a clean apartment!”

 

Martin steps in and slides off his shoes, taking the opportunity to stop looking at the taper of Janne’s back as he goes to look for a t-shirt. Janne returns, soon enough, a white t-shirt stretching across his shoulders. So, this is going to be an issue then.

 

In Martin’s defense, Janne really is stupidly pretty. Honestly, probably too pretty to be a hockey player, and sometimes Martin gets surprised by it, is all. Bro Time is supposed to be unsexy sprawling on a couch and playing FIFA. Martin’s wearing sweatpants and a Checkers shirt that fucking _fits_. Clearly, Janne hasn’t read the rules if he’s pacing about with a tight shirt on and a pout.

 

They relax into playing, and that’s enough to at least somewhat distract Martin from how the grey knit of Kuokka’s sweatpants stretches thinly across his thighs. But. Well.  Not completely, and Martin wonders how easy it would be to mouth Janne through the sweats.

 

Which like. Normally Martin keeps his thoughts pretty sex-free (by teenager standards, sure, but hockey takes up a lot of space in his mind, and so does like, practicing English all day) but it isn’t super no-homo of him to think about sucking Janne’s dick. Reflecting, he figures it’s just … a _curiosity_ thing. Janne’s pretty hot, and since Martin doesn’t like, look over in the locker room (that’d be weird, and _invasive to the sanctuary of the locker room_ ) and since Janne’s been out injured, he doesn’t know if his dick is pretty too. It’s still like, not gay to think about sucking your friend’s dick.

 

It probably is, fuck. Whatever. He’s a modern 21st century European guy. He can think about sucking dick if he wants.

 

Oh, Janne is saying something. 

 

“Bro, what was that?” Martin avoids looking at Janne or his pants, fixing his eyes instead on a dead looking house plant.

 

“I was just saying Goat isn’t coming. He's got plans.” Janne repeats himself slowly, mistaking Martin's horniness for being dumb, when really he was usually a bit of both when it came to Janne. 

 

“Oh, sucks.” Julien tended to diffuse the Weirdness that's been between Janne and Martin lately. He's all cheerful and Canadian and goes on long stories that give Martin a chance to focus on things besides Janne's lips.

 

“Bro, while you’re here, though, could you help me with something? PT’s going well, but I’m not up to moving shit on my own, yeah?”

 

Without even thinking about it, Martin agrees, only halfway regretting it when Janne had him move a fucking _bookcase_ from his bedroom to the TV area because _really_? Janne’s trying to convince whatever lucky girl he brings back to his apartment that he _reads_?

 

“Ok, that’s good there!” Janne calls out, sprawled wide-legged on the couch looking amused. “You can stop moving it dude!”

 

“Am I just muscle to you, bro?” Martin deadpans, a hand resting on his heart dramatically. Janne shoves him, laughing.

 

“No, that’s Gauthier. Bro, you know you’re more than that.” Janne looks at Martin, his eyes serious and honest and way too fucking _blue_. Coincidentally, Martin’s breath gets a little stuck somewhere in his chest. “I got to have you to feel better about my gaming skills.”

 

Martin releases his breath with a strangled laugh and tackles Janne. Like, a super platonic and hyper-aware of injuries tackle, because Martin is, if nothing else, a Good Bro. Janne wrestles cheerfully, chirping Martin’s hair even as Martin gets him pinned on the couch. He feels powerful just holding him like that, even though Janne’s broader. Speaking of, Martin despairs, _platonic_ really wasn’t the right word to describe how his dick has decided to join the party.

 

Martin stares at Janne’s bright eyes and _smile_ and stupid backwards hat that somehow hadn’t fallen off yet, and he thinks some very Un-Bro-like things.

 

“Get off, big guy, I’m injured” Janne’s smile softens to show less teeth, just his lips curling up and his cheeks _dimpling_.

 

Feeling suddenly very stupid, Martin mutters, “Make me,” as he begins getting up.

 

He’s barely shifted weight before Janne’s surging up to meet his lips, which is sick, but it would have worked better if Martin isn’t already halfway to his knees. As it is, Janne’s enthusiasm topples them both off the fucking couch, and the bastard doesn’t even care.

 

Hot people are _so_ stupid, marvels Martin. Janne has pulled off, holding himself above Martin, their positions now switched.

 

His eyes are nearly black, just the thin blue ring of his iris around black, and a flush is high in his cheeks, and he asks, “this is okay, right?”

 

Martin nods, kind of breathless, and he’s pretty sure if he tried to speak, he’d say something embarrassing. Or, more likely and definitely worse, he’d squeak.

 

“Bro, say yes or no.” Janne says, body broad and large and all encompassing. He only outweighs Martin a couple kilos and apparently all of it was in the shoulders.

 

Martin desperately thinks, _don’t squeak._ “Bro, yes.”

 

Ok, the yes is _bit_ of a squeak, but in his defense it’s because Janne’s hardly heard it before latching onto Martin’s neck. Luckily the “bro” is appropriately casual, because Martin’s like, super chill about all this, even as he whines and curses and wraps his hands somewhat desperately around Janne’s hips in an attempt to find something solid.

 

Janne’s pulled off his neck, and he looks smug as shit, staring undoubtedly at how red the marks on Martin’s neck are. He blushes easily, ok? Determined to stop that smug shit, like, immediately, Martin shoves Janne back onto the couch and gets up enough to kneel between his legs.

 

Yeah, Janne’s dick had definitely woken up. Martin knows he must look a mess himself, his eyes already dark enough before arousal blows them black, his skin flushes bright red wherever Janne’s breathed on him, but fuck, Janne’s panting prettily, lifting his shirt over his head, setting it aside, and leaning down to kiss Martin again.

 

“Kuoks, can I suck you off?” Martin says, completely chill and definitely without his voice cracking. Waiting for a response he pulls off his own shirt, but Janne’s staring at him in a very un-bro-like way, like he’s a wonder, which makes him self-conscious enough to want to put his shirt back on.

 

“Fucking yes, Marty,” Janne says, and he curls a massive hand into Martin’s hair.

 

Martin’s kind of fondling him a bit, which seems weaksauce considering how they got here, so he breathes on Janne through his sweatpants, mouthing along his dick, which has Janne setting off a storm of Finnish curses which Martin doesn’t have to _understand_ to like. _get_.

 

The hands in his hair tighten, and he looks up to – _is Janne still fucking wearing a hat? Did he take off his shirt and put it back on? That’s some Letterkenny shit right there_ – see Janne still watching him, eyes nearly black and cheeks flushed deep pink. Martin’s almost uncomfortable with the intensity of it, so he angles for a bit of distraction.

 

“Where’s your lube, bro?” Janne’s still staring at him in wonderment, and he gestures kind of blandly to the couch’s end table, which. _Really_? Martin’s going to chirp him for that later. Whatever. He grabs the lube and settles back between Janne’s thighs.

 

Martin shimmies Janne’s sweats and boxers down and gets a lubed grasp around him. For fuck’s sake, his dick _was_ pretty. This is who the boys have to compete with in bars? How the fuck any of them get laid is beyond Martin, because really, who could turn down _this_? 

 

“Ohh, you’re gorgeous,” Martin says, forgetting about his self-made promise to be Chill, but Janne lets out a high keening noise at that, so he’s going to roll with it. Complimenting your bros is just being a good friend, he rationalizes, and murmurs to Janne, “You’re gorgeous everywhere, Janne.”

 

And Janne sounds desperate now, and that makes _Martin’s_ situation more noticeable, his own dick uncomfortable and hard. He leans that much more forward, his hands feeling heavy, and he starts mouthing at the tip, sucking. He knows what _he_ likes well enough to do it for Janne. It seems Janne likes it well enough too.

 

Janne’s swearing enough to make a sailor blush, Martin notes smugly. He keeps his rhythm slow, steady, focusing on that and the stuttering movements of Janne’s hips. That…could be a concern, so he moves a hand to Janne’s hip and presses him down, firmly.

 

“Fuck, Martin, you look so right like this, so good,” Janne gasps like it’s a confession, his hands fluttering around Martin’s head now. Martin thinks about it and bobs his head down further, taking more of Janne into his mouth and enjoying the stream of swearing that unleashes.

 

Martin keeps sucking until Janne cries out and taps his shoulder, and he pulls off and jacks him the rest of the way to completion.

 

Janne’s looking at him still, traces a finger along his bottom lip before pulling him up to kiss him pretty fucking soundly.

 

“Marty, bro, I can do you?” he sounds desperate, his accent thicker than normal and his voice rough. Martin agrees, sauces him the lube, and Janne pulls him up to the couch as well, continues kissing him.

 

Martin’s more into it than he normally is, making out, but the hand around his dick, slick and massive – that _definitely_ improves the whole thing. Janne’s murmuring between kisses, saying shit like  “your fucking mouth babe” and “I wish you could see how gorgeous you look” which is more _sweet_ than Martin’s really used to, and the hand around his dick is rough even with lube, the calluses from hockey tightening around him.

 

It’s not long before he’s coming with an embarrassingly high outburst that Janne nearly swallows with his kisses. And like, he’s feeling gross and sticky but Janne’s pressing into his mouth insistently enough that he’ll ignore the grossness for a second, or minute, or whatever.

 

“Bro,” he’s murmuring, “we’ve got to clean up, Janne.”

 

Janne considers him, kisses his cheek, and _beams_. Martin’s still a little struck by that smile when it’s directed at him, even though he sees it so often. “Yes, let’s do that then!”

 

Martin supposes they’ll talk about it later. He notices that Janne is still wearing his fucking cap backwards and takes the chance to knock it off Janne’s head and wear it himself. Janne lets out a surprised laugh and tugs him down the hall into his bathroom to shower.


End file.
